


just the same but brand new

by alcatrazed



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, Insecurity, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcatrazed/pseuds/alcatrazed
Summary: in which Felix, the loneliest person in a city he barely knows, reunites with an old friend. And then some.*It was sad, sometimes, when Felix remembered Chris, yearned for his friendship even after a dozen years but, most of the time, it was comforting. The thought that maybe there was someone out there, who didn’t know Felix anymore, not like they used to, but who still might care for him. Someone who quietly would have his back, be in his corner, a guardian angel, a presence that shrunk what sometimes felt like an impossibly big world.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 18
Kudos: 170





	just the same but brand new

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taegyungie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taegyungie/gifts), [brainflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainflower/gifts).



> sometimes you get so invested in a ship you write 9k worth of developing relationship fluff and it mostly amounts to nothing but a very small, slice-of-life thing, but you'll hope people will like it anyway.
> 
> me. that's what i did.
> 
> unbeta'd. i did my best to catch all my mistakes, but i'm gonna give this a second lookover in the morning. for now, my eyeballs feels as if they may leak out of my skull.

Felix thinks, with a sort of disdain for the person the universe has facilitated him into becoming that cannot be properly described, that he’s the only person who can be in a room full of people he doesn’t know and feel so embarrassed he wishes he could slip between the cracks in the floor.

Or, no. He’s got to be more specific. It’s perfectly reasonable to feel embarrassed in a room full of people that you don’t know if you’ve done something, outwardly, to warrant it. Like if you’ve fallen flat on your face, or been screamed at by someone who has left you to deal with the aftermath of that by yourself. Felix’s situation is entirely internal. There is no way anyone in this bar has any idea what’s going on. And yet, Felix can feel shame creeping up the back of his neck, like a blanket taken out of the dryer while it’s still damp draped over his shoulders, heavy and wet and uncomfortable.

You see: Felix has been planning to meet up with this guy from this dating app he had downloaded the other week, half-drunk on soju and feeling lonelier than ever. Downloading the app was one thing, sure, but Felix is perplexed as to why he agreed to meet up with someone. He had done that entirely sober, too.

Of course he was inviting this kind of situation to happen when he agreed to that. Of course this guy was going to ghost him.

The student bar Felix is in is barely off-campus. It’s mostly rich red-toned woods, yellow-toned lighting from Edison bulbs and industrial accents, and it is full of people. People in groups, chatting and laughing and drinking and having a good time. Felix tries his best not to look pathetic, and alone, and obviously waiting for someone who was never planning on coming in the first place.

Four months in Korea and Felix hasn’t even managed to make a proper friend. How did he fool himself into thinking his dating prospects would be any different?

Whatever. He’ll have one drink, because he might as well, and then Felix will go home and draft out an email to his mom that explains how awful his night had been and not send it. Just like he normally does.

That’s when it happens. Felix approaches the bar, elbowing his way between two people, and he avoids eye contact with the bartender as he tries to explain his Korean isn’t great, when someone says, “Felix?”

The voice tickles this deep, deep part of Felix subconscious, like an itch he could never find to scratch. He thinks — he thinks he _might_ know it, but he can’t place it, but when he looks up and meets the bartender’s eye something cracks out of his subconscious into the very front of his brain.

“Chris?”

*

The first time Felix met Chris is a memory he does not have access to.

He had to have been young, very young, because every time Felix tries to go back far enough to recall the day he and Chris might have come to know each other for the first time, he never manages to go far enough back to find memories that don’t include Chris.

He can remember the bedroom in Chris’ childhood home, with the glow in the dark stars and moons on the popcorn ceiling. He remembers a mid-day of summer spent at the beach, swallowing enough salt water to leave Felix feeling sick, and the specific taste of the dinner Chris’ mom had made for them that night.

There are memories of Felix’s childhood without Chris, sure, but those all come later. Those are from when Felix is eleven and older, after Chris had moved away. Memories of sleepovers attempted with other pseudo-friends that always ended with Felix in tears on the phone with his mother. A conversation Felix had with his mother about how Chris wouldn’t be coming to his birthday that year, or the year after that, or the year after that. A young Felix trying to comprehend the outstretched, never ending idea of forever, and how someone you once knew might leave you for that long.

Eventually, Felix stopped feeling Chris’ absence in a way that felt like he was missing his aortic valve — but he never, ever forgot him.

It was sad, sometimes, when Felix remembered Chris, yearned for his friendship even after a dozen years but, most of the time, it was comforting. The thought that maybe there was someone out there, who didn’t know Felix anymore, not like they used to, but who still might care for him. Someone who quietly would have his back, be in his corner, a guardian angel, a presence that shrunk what sometimes felt like an impossibly big world.

Felix had never considered he might meet Chris ever, ever again. Maybe he should have considered the possibility more. Maybe then he would have been better equipped to deal with it.

*

Chris laughs when he hears his name come out of Felix’s mouth. “Chris,” he repeats it back. “Only my mom calls me Chris these days.” He’s speaking English. His accent isn’t as thick as it had been when they were kids. Felix wonders how he might sound different, how Chris was able to tell it was him anyways.

“Oh,” Felix flushes. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Chris shakes his head. He’s wearing all black; black jeans, black belt, black t-shirt tucked into them. The only other colour is that of a bar rag, stuffed into Chris’ front pocket. The t-shirt is form-fitting, with sleeves that are shorter than your average t-shirt. It hugs the contours of Chris’ waist, his chest and exposes the defined muscle of Chris’ arms. “Listen, Felix,” someone else behind the bar calls out the name _Chan!_ and Felix is surprised to see Chris respond, waving him off and saying he’ll be over in a second. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of a shift right now but — will you stick around? For a little bit? I’m off at one.”

It’s just past eleven. Felix could go home. Go to sleep. He probably has a paper he should be working on that he is purposefully letting slip from his mind. But — but how could he? How could he when he’s face to face with the best friend he hasn’t seen in over a decade? How could he, when he’s asking Felix to wait for him, the same way he asked when they were kids. When it took Chris an extra few minutes to get out the door, because his running shoes had laces, and Felix’s still had velcro.

How could he, when he’s spent the last four months in a country he’s still wholly unfamiliar with, feeling lonelier than he’s ever felt before.

“Okay,” Felix agrees, less hesitation than he would usually expect from himself. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

Chris smiles, and it makes him look even more familiar. He makes Felix his drink, tells him it’s on the house, and disappears to the other side of the bar before Felix can really wrap his head around everything that’s just happened.

The bar will still be open for another two hours after Chris’ shift ends. Felix finds a spot at an empty table meant to seat two, opens his phone, and, without really thinking about it, deletes the dating app he had installed.

*

Chris smiles at Felix again when he finds him at the end of his shift. It’s a smile that fills Felix’s lungs with hair, sweet and potent, like the first breath you take when surfacing from the water after being taken under by a wave. His outfit is the same, only the bar rag is missing, and he’s wearing a maroon coloured zip-up.

Felix allows himself, just for one single second that might stretch on a little bit longer than a traditional second, to lament the loss of front row seats to The Gun Show. Then, he resolves to no longer let himself think about that. At all.

Their circumstances (the fact that they last saw each other as kids, the amount it’s been since then, the fact that they would reunite in an entirely different country, somehow) means that they have no shortage of topics to speak on. Chris asks how Felix ended up in Korea (“University,” Felix answers. “Which I honestly might flunk out of soon. Who knows.”), and Felix asks Chris if this is where he ended up right after he moved away when they were kids (“No,” Chris shakes his head. “Canada, for like two years, then here. My parents moved back to Australia a few years ago, though.”). Chris asks about Felix’s parents, Felix asks about Chris’ in return.

Two hours feels like it should be a long time. It isn’t. Felix thinks that makes sense: he used to spend twelve hours straight with Chris, and that had never felt like enough either.

The bar closes in twenty minutes. Chris and Felix are still sitting at the same table. Chris is explaining to Felix how his mom still asks Felix sometimes, like Chris might have any idea what Felix could be doing, and how he’s excited to tell her all about what happened tonight. Felix watches absentmindedly as one of Chris’ coworkers cleans an empty table, and then he remembers.

“Wait,” Felix interrupts, maybe a little rudely, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles and nods, so Felix knows he’s listening. “Why are people calling you — Chan?” Felix tries the name, carefully, and finds it feels odd. Not bad, just odd.

“Oh.” Chris shrugs, “it’s just my Korean name. Started using it for school when we moved here and then it just sort — it stuck, I guess. Like I said, mom still calls me Chris. Only a person who still does that on a regular basis, though.”

“Should I . . . ?” Felix trails off.

Chris shakes his head. “No,” he replies to the question Felix only half-asked, knowing him well enough to infer even after all these years. “No, it’s nice to hear you call me that. Reminds me of home.”

Felix blushes. There’s something so soft in Chris’ voice when he says it. Soft and warm and familiar, like the smell of your mother’s cooking, or the way a pair of worn-in shoes have come to fit you just right.

“Hey, I,” it’s the first time Chris falters all night. He’s retained the confidence Felix remembers from when they were kids. When Chris would tell people off for teasing Felix, or would be one to walk up to the person selling ice cream and tell them both Felix’s order and his own, be the one to ask his mom if Felix could sleepover so it would be easier for Felix to ask his own mother. But now, Chris bites his lip, drums his fingers nervously against the wood of the table they're sitting at. Under the table, Felix bumps the toe of his shoe against Chris’ ankle, an easy, uncomplicated gesture to reassure him. “I’m sorry if this is, like, weird, or something — I know we haven’t seen each other since we were kids but — Felix. Felix, I’d really like to take you out on a date.”

“Oh,” that had not been what Felix was expecting. “Like. Romantically?”

“Yes,” Chris responds, then adds hastily. “I mean, if you don’t want it to be romantic it doesn’t have to be. I’d like to — I’d like to keep in touch, regardless. If you want that to be strictly platonic, I can do platonic. But I would — I would prefer if it was romantic.”

“It can be,” Felix licks his lips, elaborate. “Romantic, I mean. It can be romantic.”

Chris smiles again, for the upteenth time in the last handful of hours. Felix is overcome with the reality of how much he missed it — Chris smiling — and how much he would like to be able to keep it, all at once.

*

Chris shows up for their first date on Felix’s doorstep, dressed in a sherpa-lined denim jacket with unstyled hair, his cheeks tinged light pink from the wind.

For a moment, Felix allows himself to take in Chris in an entirely romantic context; he strips the history away from them, the moments they’ve shared previously, the relationship once forged entirely as friendship. The truth is: Chris is attractive, devastatingly so, and it makes Felix feel like a million little static shocks are going off under his skin. Then he lets the other things flow back in — the reality, the reaffirmation that Chris is his friend, and he knows Chris, despite the years and the distance, somehow, he still knows him.

That makes it better.

That makes Felix feel good. That makes Felix feel safe.

It does not make Chris any less attractive.

Chris takes Felix down three blocks from his apartment to a cafe Felix didn’t even know existed and Chris insists is one of his favourites. Felix wonders how many times he may have passed this cafe, none the wiser, and Chris might have been inside. Ordering a coffee, maybe, or sitting on his laptop. Felix may have only had to look up from his phone, just once, and maybe he would have —

It doesn’t matter. It’s worked itself out anyways.

Once inside, they order a cappuccino each, and then Chris sneakily buys Felix a slice of cake. It’s soft, spongy cake, with lots of cream, and a strawberry affixed to the top of it. Felix gives Chris the strawberry, and a bite of the cake itself. He feeds it to Chris, actually, right off of his fork. It feels playful and heated all at once.

Felix’s first date with Chris feels a lot like what being friends with Chris felt like. It’s easy for Felix to stumble back into it, the casualness of their relationship, the way they once spoke to each other. You would think more would have changed since they were kids, but apparently not.

Felix wonders if the relationship he has had with Chris has always been slightly more emotional than it needed to be. He wonders where it might have progressed if Chris had never left.

“I didn’t want to put too much,” Chris says to Felix, shrugging. “I don’t know. Pressure on you. For a first date. Does that make sense? I don’t know. But next time, we’ll go out for dinner, okay?”

Felix nods, unperturbed. He feels a wave of calm wash over him, now that he knows they’ll be a next time.

On the walk back to Felix’s apartment, Chris’ hand knocks against Felix’s — once, then twice — before Chris is gently, but insistently, threading their fingers together. Butterflies burst from their cocoons in Felix’s stomach, beating their wings so fiercely he’s afraid he might accidentally throw one up. How strange, that an action they shared so often and without a second thought as children, could feel so new and exciting. Felix thinks about kissing Chris, about the ways that might feel new and wonderful and like the world breaking open, and then has to duck his face into the collar of his jacket to hide his deep blush.

Chris squeezes his hand. Next to him on the sidewalk, Felix starts to walk just a little bit closer.

Chris does not kiss Felix when he drops him off. Felix tries not to be disappointed — because he’s not, not really, there is _time_ for things. Felix relishes in the idea that the potential time he could spend with Chris has begun to extend outwards again, largely unobstructed, when it had been cut off so violently the day Chris left Australia.

Chris does hug him, though. Tightly, with his nose pressed into Felix’s neck. Chris hugs him and says, “I’ll see you soon, okay? And I’ll text you when I get home,” so it’s okay.

*

It’s even more okay when, after their second date — having dinner at restaurant that serves American food, not exactly like home but something close to it, playing footsie under the table, talking and laughing, Chris taking Felix’s hand from across the table, running his thumb over Felix’s knuckles — Chris does kiss him.

He catches Felix as he’s halfway over the threshold to his apartment. Chris grabs Felix’s wrist, gentle but firm, and when Felix turns to look back at him, Chris leans forward and kisses him.

It feels like stumbling across a present before you’re meant to know about it; the happiness that comes with knowing you are getting something you want, and there are more good things waiting for you when that time comes.

Chris’ lips are soft, warm. The kiss is passionate, real and heated, but without any expectations. It’s not that Chris treats Felix with kid’s gloves; it’s that Chris knows Felix, knows how he gets nervous, and shy. He knows Felix has this tendency of saying yes to things he might not really want to do because he’s afraid to deny people what they want. The knowledge of that fills Felix from head to toe with slow, syrupy warmth, enveloping his insides like a blanket. He puts his palm against Chris’ chest just to feel his heartbeat and feels so, so good to know that this won’t be the last time Chris kisses him.

*

The first time Felix and Chris kissed was back in Australia.

Felix doesn’t remember how old they had been at the time. A lot of those memories blend together like warmed wax, sticky and heavy, indistinguishable from what was there first and what was added later. There are flashes of Chris pressing his lips against Felix’s cheek, Chris pressing his own fingers to his lips and then pressing them a bruise on Felix’s elbow. A million and one hugs, their palms pressed together, sticky with candy, fingers interlocked. They had always done this sort of thing — it’s hard to track, exactly, when it crossed the threshold.

All Felix knows is that, at some point, he had been in Chris’ bedroom with him, and the light had been coming through the window slant, because the sun was setting. Felix had screwed his eyes shut and his hands had shook and Chris’ lip were dry and chapped, where Felix had been picking at his lips and peeling the skin away for hours.

It was innocent, as all kisses when you are that age are. But it had felt — Felix was a kid, back then, so he lacked critical thought, but he knew it had felt a certain way, to press his mouth against Chris’.

As an adult, he still won’t quite know how to place it. But still, there will be something nice about the thought: that the time Chris tugged on Felix’s wrist so he could kiss him in the open doorway, was not the first time they had kissed. That it could be familiar. That it could be something Felix _knew_.

*

Their third date, they don’t go out.

Instead, they stay in, and Chris invites Felix to his apartment. They curl up on his couch, under this plush blanket that Felix purrs like a cat at when it’s draped over him. They watch non-descript movies Felix doesn’t really care about. What Felix does care about is the way his back is pressed against Chris’ chest, the cage of his thighs around Felix’s own, the hand Chris keeps on Felix’s hipbone, underneath of his t-shirt, and the thumb that occasionally passes lightly across Felix’s bare skin.

Eventually, the movie is forgotten entirely. Eventually, Felix slides into Chris’ lap so he’s facing him, circling his arms around Chris’ neck. It makes Chris blush, all the way down his neck. Felix loves it, how Chris exudes confidence and forwardness, and the second Felix takes that lead away from him, Chris flusters beyond belief.

Eventually, the only thing Felix cares about is Chris’ mouth. The warmth of it, the path of fire it burns from the curve of Felix’s jaw down the column of his throat. All he can care about is both of Chris’ hands gripping his hips, rucking up his shirt, the feeling of Chris’ palms against Felix’s bare skin.

Felix had thought, _maybe tonight, maybe_ , when Chris invited him over. But it doesn’t happen. They spend a long time kissing, breathless and hot, and Chris’ hands roam freely while Felix grips into Chris’ shoulders, his hair, his shirt. At some point, the shirt comes off. But that’s it. That’s as far it goes. Chris pulls away, gives Felix this long, unreadable look, and bites his lip.

“Do you want to spend the night?” Chris asks. Then, he clarifies, “just to sleep, I mean.”

Felix nods. He ignores the arousal still pooling in his gut. He won’t press it. Not when it’s so easy to fall in line behind Chris, when it’s so easy to trust him.

It’s so easy to fall asleep in bed with him, too. He doesn’t run too hot, his feet are not cold where they press against Felix’s calves. He presses against Felix from behind, back to front again, spooning him with an arm thrown across his waist. His breath fans out against Felix’s neck.

Felix falls asleep with his heartbeat steady, ideally wondering how he turned a life so lonely into all of this.

*

The thing about Felix, is that he has never been very proactive at asking for things.

He’s shy. It’s in his nature. It’s why he went four months living in Korea without making a single friend, why he only ever went to the same place to get coffee, or lunch, or his groceries. Why he always sat at the same table in the library to study. Things that were predictable were easy, comfortable. It’s probably part of the reason he managed to fall into this thing with Chris: the familiarity.

Felix is content to follow Chris’ lead. For Chris to pick where they go out to eat (he knows all the good spots anyways, he’s lived here longer than Felix), for Chris to pick what they watch (Felix will barely pay attention anyways, doesn’t have the attention span for it), for Chris to take their relationship where he thinks it needs to be. Only —

Only Felix _wants_. In a way that rolls through the pit of his stomach like a wave when he sees Chris in the tight fit of what he wears to work. Or when Chris exposes the line of his pelvis when he reaches to grab something from a top shelf and his shirt rides up. Or when Felix wakes up with Chris curled around him from behind, and can feel the press of Chris’ cock against the small of his back.

Maybe that’s part of what makes Felix so frustrated about all of this; he can feel what he wants clearly, in a physical way, and that makes it harder to ignore. He’s good at pushing things down. But not this. This is constantly bubbling up, a pot on the stove about to boil over.

Felix is not someone who tends to take matters into their own hands.

Maybe he’ll have to make an exception.

*

Felix doesn’t really go into it with any kind of plan. That’s strategic of him; he’s worried if he thinks about it enough to plan out anything, he’ll overthink it, and then what? Then they’ll just be back at square one.

Felix just hopes that Chris, like, actually wants to have sex with him. That’s he’s abstaining under some false virtue of taking things slow, and not because he’s decided he’s not, actually, physically attracted to Felix.

See. This is what Felix means about the overthinking.

All things considered, Felix is _pretty sure_ Chris is attracted to him in the physical sense. He knows he is, in the emotional sense, because Chris never seems to be able to stop saying it. Chris has pressed _I like you so much_ and _I’m really glad you like me too_ against Felix’s skin in murmurs over and over. Felix can feel the attraction — less concretely, more arbitrarily, but still — in the wattage of the smiles Chris gives him, in the warmth of his hand when it’s interlocked with Felix’s, in the waxy taste of the chapstick Chris will use before he meets up with Felix for a date.

Felix thinks — he’s _pretty sure_ — that he can feel the physical attraction too. If only just a little bit.

They kiss a lot. In ways that are not always innocent. Chris will put his hands on Felix’s ass sometimes. He’ll sigh, heavy and long, when Felix presses his palm flat against the muscles in Chris’ stomach, just above the waistline of his pants. There might be evidence in just the way Chris will kiss Felix, too. In the slow slide of their open mouths, the quickening of their hot breaths. How it sometimes feels like the entire timeline of them, past and present and future, compacted into a single moment of sharing the same space.

Okay. Felix needs to stop thinking about this. No more thoughts, just actions.

They’re at Felix’s apartment. Felix planned it that way, counting on the familiar setting to give him a boost to his confidence. Their take-out containers are discarded on Felix’s coffee table and the evening is permeated with a sense of calm, simplicity. It would become sleepier, maybe, if Felix let the evening drag on much longer.

“What are you thinking about?” Chris asks, thumbing over the jut of Felix’s ankle bone.

Felix thinks the worst thing he ever did for his Korean was start dating Chris. They barely speak to each other in anything but English.

Felix. “Just — do you remember that time I spent the night at your house? And we stayed up way too late because we ate too much candy, and in the morning we were so tired, yeah? And then we fell asleep on your mom’s couch together.”

“Yeah,” Chris replies. He tugs Felix closer, until Felix is laid out across him with his head on Chris’ chest. “Kind of like this, yeah?”

Felix snorts. “Yeah. Like this.”

Just like this but better. Because now Felix can lean forward, just a little, and press his and Chris’ mouths together. It’s better, because he’s an adult, and he’s not nearly as nervous as he was when he was a kid.

“You were, like, the only friend I ever really had, y’know?” Felix confesses once he pulls away.

Chris’ brow furrows, like he can’t believe it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I had friends, sort of. After you left.” Felix explains, “but none of them were ever my friend like you were my friend. Actually, I — I could never sleep over at anyone else’s house when I was kid after you left. My mom tried, two or three times, and every time I would just end up calling her in the middle of the night, crying and asking for her to pick me up.”

“I’m sorry, Felix.”

Felix shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologize. I was a kid. It doesn’t matter anymore. But also — also it kind of makes me feel good. Kind of makes me feel like I was always keeping this spot for you in my life. Like, one day, no matter what, we were gonna find each other again. I like thinking about it like that.”

The expression Chris gives Felix is soft and sad and happy all at once. Felix isn’t sure why he said all that to begin with, but he’s glad he did. Maybe tonight is just the night he’s going to be brave.

Chris kisses him, one more time, and this time when he pulls away Felix says, “I’ll be right back.”

Chris pouts, visibly, when Felix slides off of his lap. It’s adorable.

In the privacy of his bathroom, Felix surveys himself in the mirror.

He’s always felt that he’s got all these bones that stick out where they aren’t supposed. Like a puzzle someone has put together almost right, but there’s too many jagged edges. His mouth is oddly-shaped, the mess of freckles across the bridge of his nose traps him to perpetual childhood, to every other kid who had been his age at the time who had made fun of them. Everything about Felix feels like a stark contrast, who is built the way someone is supposed to be, and who has a soft, pillowy mouth and unmarred, smooth skin.

Every time Felix feels rid of insecurities bred into him from childhood, they creep back up on him. Like missing the last step on the staircase you’re climbing in the dark.

Felix stops looking at himself. He turns away from the mirror. He pulls his shirt up over his head, discards it into a heap on the floor. Next, Felix removes his socks, and then, his jeans, sliding them down to his ankles and then stepping out of them.

He takes a moment to consider the pros and cons of removing his boxers. The pros and cons of presenting himself to Chris, totally naked, and the kind of vulnerability that would entail. Felix decides against this. This time, Felix will allow himself to have his boxers act as the wall between himself and complete embarrassment.

It still takes Felix five minutes of deep breathing to convince himself to leave the bathroom.

Chris is sitting up on the couch when Felix re-emerges into the living room, absentmindedly tapping away on his phone. He doesn't even look up at first. Felix has to clear his throat to get his attention.

“What is it, ba — oh.” Chris cuts himself off when he lifts his eyes to Felix. “Oh. Is this — is this what I think it is?”

Felix wills himself not to blush from head to fucking toe, because that sure would be embarrassing. He tries not to shrink in on himself when he approaches Chris, stands right before him.

For some reason, Felix decides the best way to proposition the man he is dating for sex is to be weirdly sincere.

“I really appreciate it,” he says, and he grabs both of Chris’ hands in his, for a second, before he places them on his hips. “That you take my feelings and my — well, let’s be honest, my neuroticism — into consideration when it comes too — when it comes to us.” Felix slides into his lap. “I like that you take care of me. But I would,” Felix feels flush creeping up his chest, but he persists. Licks his lips, continues, “I would really like it if you took care of me in this one, very specific way.”

Felix is briefly embarrassed that he can’t just say _I want you to fuck me_ but then Chris is burying his face in his hands and saying, “okay, wait, give me a minute. I would get up and go into the other room and yell if you weren’t sitting in my lap.”

That makes Felix feel better. It makes him feel like they’re more on equal footing. It also makes Felix feel special, in a warm and fuzzy way (even despite his current intentions), to know that this careful tip-toe outside of his comfort zone is enough to have Chris react like this.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” Chris elaborates, face still buried in his hands. “Of course I wanted to but I — I worry about you all the time, Felix. You always make concessions for everybody else.”

Now Felix is blushing in a way that’s obvious. God, as if they’re picking this moment to do this. As if they’re doing this with Felix stripped down to his underwear, sitting in Chris’ lap.

“I wanted,” Chris mumbles. “I wanted to make sure you wanted it. Before I even asked.”

“Okay,” Felix nods. “Okay. So I’ll tell you. I want it.”

Chris kisses him.

It’s all damp skin and wet mouths and searing heat after that. Felix hasn’t had sex in — in a while, and there is something extra lewd about them not even making it to the bedroom. Just right on the couch, too possessed by each other’s bodies to want to pull away for even a second. Felix has never been more thankful to not have any roommates. Chris spends so long fingering Felix he comes from it, tears gathered in the corner of his eyes from being on the edge of it for so long. When Chris finally fucks him, it’s with Felix in his lap, both of his arms circled around the smallest part Felix’s waist, their foreheads pressed together. It feels — it feels much more emotionally charged than Felix had been expecting. Than what Felix was used to.

Maybe he just never had sex with someone he cared about this much.

Afterwards, they lay on the couch together. They are both sticky and sweaty and neither of them care enough about it. Chris nuzzles his face into the apex of where Felix’s neck meets his shoulders, places a kiss there. “Can I ask you something?” He numbles.

Felix hums an affirmative. He feels the press of Chris’ lips to the same spot, again, before Chris continues. “I’ve been telling my friends you’re my boyfriend,” the word brings back the familiar beat of wings in Felix’s stomach. “Is that okay? Can I keep doing that?”

Felix pulls the arm Chris has thrown over his waist tight around himself. “Yeah,” Felix replies, interlocking their fingers. “Yeah. Keep doing that.”

*

Felix is mildly pissed off that Chris has waited until they are, quite literally, standing on the doorstep to his friends apartment, to tell Felix, “so, just as a warning: my friends are really competitive.”

It’s Tuesday. Tuesday is Game Night. Felix has never been invited to Game Night.

Until tonight.

He’s a little nervous about meeting Chris’ friends, quite honestly. They’ve been dating for three months, at this point, so it’s the natural progression for their relationship to take, but still. Chris’ friends speak mostly Korean (Chris insists this will, in fact, not be that much of an issue. He insists Felix’s Korean is getting better) and Felix has never been — well, he’s never been very good with new people. He’s an introvert, by design, and he can get overwhelmed by new people very fast. He’s always thinking about how other people might perceive him, the myriad of ways he could potentially embarrass himself, what people might say about him once he’s no longer in the room.

All things considered: that’s probably why Chris waits so long to tell him about the competitiveness.

“I don’t like how that sounds,” Felix replies. “It sounds ominous.”

“You’ll be fine,” Chris takes Felix’s hand in his, kisses Felix’s cheek. “If things get out of hand I’ll protect you.”

*

It is not fine.

Or, it’s fine at first. Felix is introduced to all of Chris’ friends. They call him _Chan_ but they don’t comment when Felix calls him Chris, which is nice. The one who lives in this apartment — his name is Minho — he offers Felix a beer, which Felix takes in hopes it will soothe some anxiety.

They play Monopoly. Felix respectfully bows out of actually participating, tells them he’s content to watch, and he’s thankful when Chris doesn’t pester him to play regardless. It’s nice, still, when they first start the game. Chris puts his hand on Felix’s leg under the table, leans over to whisper the details of his plans into Felix’s ear. Felix tells a joke and the table laughs. That’s all good. That’s all fine.

It becomes not fine when Chris’ friend Jisung spends three turns pestering his friend Changbin for a trade, only to have Changbin refuse him every time. And then, Seungmin offers a trade for the exact same properties, and Changbin accepts immediately, and at some point the board ends up in Jisung’s hands, brandished like a weapon, and Chris is holding onto Jisung’s shoulder to keep him from bringing it down over Changbin’s head.

The action hits it’s apex quickly and deflates even quicker, because they’re all _friends_ , obviously. But there’s a blur of motion for a few minutes, and then Jisung is back in his seat, arms crossed and pouting, and Changbin is bent over at the waist, laughing so hard he’s got his head between his knees.

“Whoa,” Felix comments to Chris, who is giggling beside him. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Chris replies. “But that was actually one of our less chaotic game night blow-ups. They usually don’t end that fast.”

“We have company this time,” Minho says, his mouth full of chips, gesturing towards Felix.

“I can’t remember the last time we _finished_ a game,” Hyunjin interjects. “Someone always gets angry before anyone manages to win.”

“It’s usually Jisung,” Chris supplies. Jisung sits on the opposite side of Chris to Felix, and so Chris leans over and elbows him in the ribs teasingly. “Last week, he was losing at Clue, so he reached across the table and stole Hyunjin’s answer sheet. Then he ate it.”

Felix laughs. He likes Chris’ friends. Of course he likes Chris’ friends. It seems obvious now, that they’d like the same type of people.

“Why don’t you guys play — I don’t know, nicer games? Something like charades.”

The entire table stills. Everyone looks at Felix.

“We don’t play charades anymore.” Minho says darkly.

Next to him, Jeongin takes a sip of his soda. His eyes are glassy, far away. “Not since The Great Charades Disaster of 2018.”

Felix looks at Chris, confused. “You don’t wanna know,” Chris shakes his head. “Let’s just say that Minho ended up in a sling and Changbin and Seungmin did not speak for two weeks.”

“Oh. Right then. No charades.” Felix says, equally as serious as the rest of them.

*

“Do you want to come over tonight?” Chris asks. There in his car, on the way home. Felix hasn’t brought an overnight bag, but he’s left some clothes at Chris’ before. There’s an extra toothbrush in Chris’ bathroom for him, too, and a charger for his phone that Felix bought just to always leave there.

“Sure,” Felix responds. He slides his hand over Chris’ where it rests on the gearshift. With Felix’s palm pressed to the top of Chris’ hand, he interlocks their fingers.

They drive in silence for a few moments. Until Felix is saying, “do you think they liked me?”

It comes out more sincere, more open and vulnerable, than Felix had meant. He had fun tonight. But it didn’t matter how much fun he had, there was always that nagging, that worry at the very base of his skull.

“Felix,” Chris breathes out. Felix can feel him attempt to squeeze his hand, not entirely successful because of the position of them. “Yeah. I think they really liked you.”

“Okay,” Felix nods. “Okay. That’s good. I really want them to like me.”

“I know, baby,” Chris speaks quietly, like the moment is made of glass. “They really like you. I promise. I wasn’t worried about it, not at all, but I’m happy it worked out.”

Felix sighs. He stares out the window for a long moment. Then, he says, “me too.”

*

Felix does not remember the day that Chris moved away.

He wonders if, maybe, his little childhood brain categorized that particular memory as trauma, and decided to bury it deep enough that Felix could dig and dig for hours and never find it.

He remembers the feeling, though. The emptiness, the raw wound in his heart, the feeling like he’d swallowed a rock in the pit of his stomach. The hopelessness that consumed him, when he convinced himself he’d never manage to make another friend ever again. He, of course, did not have the wherewithal to categorize these emotions as a child, but he’s given it enough thought as an adult to know.

To know that nothing quite ever hurt that bad. To know that he’d do anything to never, ever feel that again.

*

Things are good for awhile. Things are so good for so long that Felix subconsciously starts waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Dating Chris still sits squarely at that apex between familiarity and extraordinary. There are a million things that Chris will do that will remind Felix of when they were kids, and then another million things that will feel brand new, things Felix never could have anticipated from Chris. It’s a good thing, to fall into the comfort of knowing someone and still allowing yourself to be surprised.

The months pass in a hazy glow of affection and happiness and a goodness Felix doesn’t quite know how to feel completely sometimes. He wishes, sometimes, he could step outside of his relationship and view it that way. Maybe he would understand it better than. Maybe he would be able to let the happiness of it fill him completely, like slow-moving lava. But he can’t, so he tries his best to feel as much as he can, soak it all up until he feels like bursting.

They spend more time with Chris’ friends. They still intimidate Felix, sometimes, but as time passes he gets more and more used to them. One night, Chris picks up an extra shift at the bar, and as he’s about to leave he says to Felix, “you’re going to Game Night tonight, right? They boys are expecting you.”

Which — huh, that had not been something Felix had been expecting.

He’s nervous to go, really nervous, but he forces himself to show up regardless. And it’s, by some miracle, it goes well. Chris’ friends are nice to him; they laugh at his jokes, they say nice things about him. And once Felix settles into his spot among the group, he feels at ease for the rest of the night. They play Uno, and they actually manage to get through a whole game, and, somehow, Felix wins.

Chris and Felix’s relationship is progressing in the most natural way possible. Which is why it shouldn’t surprise Felix when it happens.

They are lying next to each other in Chris’ bed. They’ve just had sex; the lazy, rhythmic kind that comes when you’ve been sleeping with the same person for months. Felix has quickly gone from feeling warm all over, to the sweat on his skin cooling and sending a chill through him. He pulls the blankets out from underneath them and up to his neck.

Chris plasters himself to Felix immediately, curling up against him on his side. He loves touching. Felix loves to be touched. It’s good. It’s anchoring.

Then, Chris brings it up.

“Are you planning on going home for the holidays?” It’s about to be their seven month anniversary, which means it’s only September, but Chris asks the question anyway.

“Oh,” Felix replies. “I’m not sure. Maybe? Why? Were you thinking of going home.”

Chris makes a noise in the affirmative. Then, he says, “my parents really want me to go visit.”

Felix nods. He thinks that might be the end of the conversation. He feels Chris press a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, then another, then he’s perching his chin on the same spot so he can look up at Felix.

“I was thinking,” he starts, tracing figure eights on the skin just above Felix’s hip with his pointer finger. “Obviously, my parents already know you. From when we were kids, yeah? But I was thinking — even if you weren’t thinking of going home — maybe you should. With me? Because I,” Felix can feel his heart stop, for just a second, while he waits for Chris to finish speaking. “Because I’d really like to reintroduce you to my parents as my boyfriend.”

A knot twists itself up in Felix’s gut. It’s tight, and heavy, and it sutters the breath from his lungs briefly. There’s panic, too. Not all consuming, the more sinister kind. The kind that creeps and creeps until it’s all you can think about, and if only you could get your footing for a moment you might break free.

Why is this all of a sudden a big deal? Why does Felix feel like this? Why —

“I’ll think about it,” Felix finally responds.

He doesn’t look at Chris when he says it. He’s too afraid to see disappointment on his face.

*

Felix wishes, beyond anything, that he could learn to stop being a slave to his insecurities.

He doesn’t want to break up with Chris. He knows this. He wouldn’t mind Chris telling his parents about him, him telling his parents about Chris in return. He understands that. It’s just —

It’s just, at some point, it will be like someone has turned all the lights on in the room, and there will be nowhere to hide, and Felix and Chris, as a unit, will be realer than they ever are before. It will strip away the fog, the glow, and Felix and Chris will be adults in a relationship trying to make it work.

It will be real. And anything that has the capacity to be real has the capacity to inflict real pain.

So, Felix doesn’t break up with Chris. But he does pull away. He pulls away because he can’t think of a real solution, so maybe he can force Chris to come up with one instead. Felix has always been good at following Chris’ lead. So, he doesn’t answer Chris’ texts as fast. So, he doesn’t spend every night with Chris. They had developed this routine of trying to spend a night or two apart, these past few months, and they always ended up falling. Not this time. This time it works. Felix falls asleep in his bed alone, the pajamas Chris leaves at his apartment tucked safely away in a dresser drawer.

On Tuesday, he gets a text from Chris, _Game Night tonight?_

And Felix responds with, _no, lots of school work_

Felix does not respond to the next text message Chris sends him, an _okay baby_ , signed with a sad face.

*

It’s been just under a week of Felix wallowing by himself when the cavalry shows up at his apartment.

The cavalry being: Minho, Changbin, Jisung. Felix didn’t even know that they knew where he lived.

“What’s going on?” Felix asks, eyebrows knit. “Is something wrong with Chan?” He uses the name Chris’ friends are familiar with.

“Yes,” Jisung answers immediately. Changbin and Minho give him identical looks. “I mean, no. Not really. But kind of. We need to talk to you.”

They go to the same cafe Chris took Felix to for their first date. Felix looks at the display of strawberry cream cake probably a little longer than he needed too. He doesn’t order any food, just milk tea. Once they are sat at the table — Chris’ three friends all circled around Felix — Felix tries his best not to sink back in on himself. He tries to remember these people are not here to be mean to him. They’re here because they care about Chris, their friend.

Minho presents the question without any preamble: “Do you want to break up with Chan?”

“What?” Felix asks, then feels immediate regret. Of course they would think that. Who was he to question why they might? That wasn’t fair. “No. No, I don’t want to break up with him. Does he — does he think I do?”

Changbin shakes his head. “No. But the rest of us were worried.”

“We don’t think you should break up with him,” Jisung interjects.

“I’m not going to!”

“Good,” Jisung nods, like he’s somehow used some deducing powers to get the answers he wanted, and not like Felix had volunteered the truth freely. “Can’t imagine how much he would mope if you did.”

“What do you mean?”

Minho scoffs. “He’s been pouting all week,” he explains. “Oh, you guys, I don’t know what I did,” he’s imitating Chris’ voice now. “I miss Felix so much, I must have done something wrong, I miss him. I need to talk to him. I need to talk to him and kiss every single one of his freckles and beg for forgiveness.”

“He said that?” Felix asks, feeling a distinct tug on his heart.

“That and more,” Changbin nods. “It was incessant. And sad, but also kind of cute. _Did_ something happen?”

Felix drops his gaze to his own lap, where his hands and wrung together. “Chan didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, truthfully.

“You should talk to him,” someone says. Felix isn’t sure who. Everything sounds very, very far away. He nods, though.

“Can I ask you something?” Felix lifts his head to make eye contact again. The three others at the table nod in unison, and it makes Felix wonder how long they might have been friends. “If — If Chan and I weren’t dating, would you — would you all still like me?”

“Duh,” Jisung says, without hesitation, and his friends echo his statement. “We like you more than we like him sometimes.

“Felix,” it’s Minho who speaks now. He’s leaning closer to Felix, over the table, and his expression is more serious than the other two’s. “It goes both ways, y’know? You’re our friend, too. We’d be having the same conversation with Chan if we were worried about _you_.”

Felix kind of feels like crying. Instead, he laughs. Not particularly heartily, or loud, just a short exhale.

But still: he laughs.

*

Felix makes the decision that he needs to apologize to Chris.

Then he thinks about it for too long, stress bakes two dozen brownies, and still ends up having to wait another day and a half before he summons the courage to actually do it.

He feels stupid, now, standing on Chris’ doorstep with a tupperware container full of brownies.

“Felix?” Chris’ expression when he opens the door is so open. Felix can read every emotion on his face. Chris looks caught between happiness and worry. Felix wonders if Chris might be worried that Felix is here to break up with him. “Did you tell me you were coming over?”

“No,” Felix shakes his head. “I was worried if I thought about it long enough to ask you I’d lose my nerve.”

“Felix,” Chris repeats his name, sadder this time. “What do you mean?”

“Can we go inside? Please?” Chris nods, stepping out the way so Felix can step over the threshold. He shoves the container full of brownies at Chris’ chest. “I made these for you, by the way.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“I’m not here to break up with you.”

As soon as Felix says it, Chris’ shoulders sag with relief. “Oh thank god,” he presses his palm against his chest, just over his heart. “I was so worried, baby.”

“I wanted to talk, though.”

“Okay,” Chris nods. “Talking is good.”

They end up sitting on the couch, knees angled towards each other, Felix’s brownies sitting on Chris’ coffee table. Chris looks like he hasn’t been up for very long — still just in sweatpants and a sleep shirt, his hair unstyled — he must have had a late shift at the bar last night.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” Felix starts. “You know me. _You know me_. I get nervous about — about everything. And you always take care of me. But when you asked about talking to our parents about us I just. I just started to worry. I started to worry about getting so invested in something I was giving it the opportunity to hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” Chris grabs one of Felix’s hands, pulling it into his own lap, so he can cup both of his own hands around it. “Felix, I would never hurt you.”

“I know that,” Felix responds. “And I know I should have just talked to you about it but — _you know_ — you know how I just internalize everything. All the time.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods, speaking softly. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“I want us to be able to tell our parents about us,” Felix says it as sincerely as he can. He’s looking at Chris right in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that. I’m sorry I let myself get too worried about it to tell you that.”

“Felix,” Chris keeps saying Felix’s name, and every time he does it feels like someone is gripping Felix’s heart as tightly as they can. Chris let’s go of Felix’s hand and cups his face instead, bringing their face close together. “You don’t have to apologize, okay? This is what we’re supposed to do together. Tell each other things and help each other. You don’t have to apologize for being yourself, okay?”

Felix can’t find words to respond, instead, all he does is nod.

Chris kisses him then. The vice grip around Felix’s heart loosens, relief flooding through his body faster than he can track it’s path. So he didn’t screw this all up. So this is all going to be okay.

When Chris pulls away he doesn’t go very far. When he speaks, it’s with barely any space between his and Felix’s mouth. “Hey, can I tell you something too?” Felix nods. Chris gives it a second, let’s the moment rest between them, stretch out like pulled taffy, before he’s saying, thumb running back and forth over Felix’s cheekbone. “I love you.”

Felix can’t help it: he thinks back to the first night, him alone in a bar, him wishing he could disappear, the comfort of finding an old friend after years. The way Chris had looked at him, that first night, and all the ways that look has changed and all the ways it has stayed exactly the same. The way, almost eight months ago, Felix had felt alone in a city full of people, and he had no plan for how to stop feeling that way. How it really, truly, does feel like this was all meant to happen. Like the universe planned this from the beginning. How, one day, someone made Chris, and then they made Felix, and then — for some reason, for some beautiful, unexplainable, blessed reason — the universe decided _these two, these two get to have each other, no matter what_.

“I love you too,” Felix says, and it feels familiar and extraordinary all at once.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> title from [st. vincent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1LHX5chlH0)
> 
> this is fic is also for lauren, who enabled me greatly in twitter dms <3


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